P
by MrsCuddles
Summary: 'This is what dream are made of' had always felt like a cliché to Mike, until he was left to guard the valuable tangibility of a dream kept hidden in his inmost being.


**This just came on my mind and just stuck there, not wanting to get out. It's set right after the season 1 finale. Hope you like it, your thoughts are very much appreciated :)**

**- xo, Mel**

**P.**

He spots her instantly. Her golden skin stands out among the pale one of all his female colleagues.

He watches her through the window glass of his office, as if she were a mirage.

He is not the only one staring at her and he knows for a fact that the eyes of all his male colleagues are pausing on her a few more minutes than they should.

When he wraps her in his arms, he lingers on her frame more than usual. Possessively.

'_I'm here for some work related stuff. I didn't know which department you were in._'

He doesn't want to know about her business that had brought her there. He doesn't care.

She doesn't want to know about the stuff he's dealing with now. She doesn't care.

Yet, they can't help but wonder.

_'They stuck me behind a desk.'_

He doesn't know why he had felt the need to tell her that. He doesn't know why he had confessed to her his disappointment through the tone of his voice.

_'I'm only here for a day.'_

But she knows why she had told him that. And he does too.

_'I'll treat you with dinner, tonight.'_

He's not asking. It's not an invitation, it's not a statement.

It's a fact.

**X**

His apartment is bare, simple.

The leather couch in his small living room is exactly like the one Briggs owns at Graceland.

It would be easier to sit there, but that would just make everything too insipid. Formal.

And that's so not _them_. That's so not _her_.

They are sitting on the carpet, their shoulders resting against the couch.

Her face shines under the sensual glow coming from the fireplace.

They click their glasses of red wine together and take a sip, talking about everything and nothing.

Her laugh is velvety, just like he remembered it.

A drop of wine slips fearless down her chin.

He catches it straight away, wiping it off up to the corner of her mouth.

Their eyes meet with an invisible sparkle.

She wraps her lips around his thumb and tastes the wine flavored and salty skin of his digit.

His eyes watch as her shiny plum lips release his thumb slowly, lightly smudging her lipstick.

He takes her face in his hands, bringing his mouth to hers.

She feels the fairly moist skin of his thumb brush against the shell of her ear.

He cups the back of her head, threading his fingers through her locks.

His lips come crashing on hers, while her hands eagerly undo the few buttons of the jacket she's wearing.

He pushes it off her shoulders in one motion and takes her into his arms bridal style, heading to his bedroom.

**X**

He clings to the headboard of his spartan bed with one hand, the other lays flat against the wall above. He feels her thighs tighten around his hips.

He grazes his face against hers, shaping their lips in one passionate kiss.

Their eyes meet magnetically.

_'What's wrong?'_

He leans his forehead on hers. His breathing feels hot on her sweaty skin.

_'I want to remember this moment. You don't know how long I've wanted this; how bad I've desired you.'_

She bites her lip, her fingers sinking into his muscular back.

She wants to leave her mark. She wants him to remember what had happened between them.

That _she_ had been there, in _his_ bed.

That _he_ had been there, inside of _her_.

With one swift movement, he fills her completely. Their breaths mingle together and he grabs her hand. He interlaces his fingers with hers, while she arches into his arms and his name finds its way between her lips. In the darkness of the night.

**X**

He watches her sleeping, curled up in the middle of the bed. He is about to fall off, but he doesn't care.

His fingers trace soft patterns on the side of her naked body. He wants to hack into his memory every moment with her.

_'Stop it. Go to sleep.'_

She doesn't open her eyes, but she simply caresses the side of his face. He turns her hand and kisses her palm.

_'I can't.'_ He mutters. _'You won't be here when I wake up.'_

He catches her attention. Her green eyes stare at him, completely awake now.

_'No, I won't be here when you wake up.'_

It's not a prediction, it's not a statement.

It's a fact.

**X**

And she's not there.

When he opens his eyes, her scent has almost completely vanished from the white sheets.

The apartment is identical to the previous morning, but something is different.

It seems more barren than usual.

He dresses himself, in a hurry. He wants to go out. He wants to go to work and forget about the _dream_ he had been squeezing and savoring in his arms just the night before and that is now flying 2636 miles west, away from him.

He grabs his suitcase, giving one last look around before going out: everything is just as before, and yet everything is different.

He starts toward the door.

_'Thank you. _

_x P. '_

A note. Stuck there, on the peephole of his door.

He gently detaches it and scans his eyes over the messy and fine handwriting.

That note is there for a reason.

He folds it carefully and sticks it in the inmost crook of his wallet. Tucked away for nobody but him to see.

It's there to assure him that those memories, those moments ... that _dream,_ are his and no one else's.

_P._


End file.
